


Before I Began To Grow

by ZoeyTear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeyTear/pseuds/ZoeyTear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years since Sherlock and John have spoken properly. Sherlock's angry and hurt, John is oblivious and obnoxious, yet with a series of events, Sherlock and John end up in Baker Street together. Temperatures run high. Fights break out. Will they ever be able to restore what they once had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters in this story, bar original creations. I recognise that BBC own the Sherlock characters I am writing about.
> 
> Also, I wrote this before season three came out. This story was completed in autumn 2013.

  
_Just pick up the phone. Pick it up and call_ _him._  

Sherlock bit his lip and only continued to stare at the phone in his hands.

Seven years, it had been. Three years, Sherlock had been missing, and then four of John Watson ignoring Sherlock Holmes.

  
_But, this is important. Just put aside your feelings like you used to. When did you let yourself succumb to these emotions, Sherlock?_  

Sherlock sighed, and finally hit 'ring' on John's number.

Sherlock raised the phone to his ear, his stomach in knots.

The phone answered on the fourth ring. ''Hello? Who is this?''

Sherlock shut his eyes. It had been too long since he had heard that voice.

The consulting detective drew in a deep breath. ''John, it's me. It's Sherlock.''

There was no answer for three long seconds.

''Sherlock?'' John's voice rang out with disbelief and curiosity. He obviously realized this, because he cleared his throat to start again.

''Sherlock, it that really you?'' John asked, his tone more formal this time.

Sherlock bit his lip, finding it hard to keep things together. ''Yeah, it's me. I sort of need to ask you-''

''Did you hear something? Is that why you're calling me?''

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. ''What? No...Sebastian has been sighted.''

Sherlock heard John sigh. ''This is not what I need.'' He muttered. ''Sherlock, you've gotten me at a bad time. I can't just really run up to London right now.''

Sherlock nodded, a feeling of disappointment spreading through him.

''Oh, I see. My-my bad. I'll see you around, then.''

''No, wait, Sherlock...it's been years.'' John let out a small laugh. ''Tell me how you've been?''

Sherlock couldn't help smile. He had missed John's generosity, despite everything that had happened.

''...Just the same. Same, old me.'' Sherlock said, not very enthusiastically. There was an awkward pause.

''Look, John...Just call me if you can make the case. You know where to find me.''

He hung up before John could answer, and collapsed onto his couch.

That had been much harder, and a lot more brief than what Sherlock had expected.

Yes, it was he who hung up first, yet Sherlock still muttered John's name bitterly as he forced himself to get up from the couch.

No point in just sitting about and crying. Sherlock had learned that years ago.

                                                                        *

John placed his phone back onto his feeble, and in no way sturdy, coffee table.

He and Sherlock hadn't spoken in more than two years, But, John would often think of his old friend. He would wonder if Sherlock still did cases, still played the violin...still lived alone.

John shook his head. He didn't feel like thinking about that right now. He had more pressing matters at hand, such as finding a place to stay since his recent divorce from his wife, Mary.

He could muse over his old mistakes at night time, when they usually struck.

John got up and walked over to his tablet. He quickly tapped in the password and re-opened his tabs.

Here he was, searching for a flat share in London again. There wasn't many appealing apartments or house mates...but, maybe John just had too high of expectations. Well, you would, after living with Sherlock Holmes.

Oh! Sherlock Holmes? Could John maybe go back to Baker Street? He would be lying if he said he didn't miss it, or that it's oh-so-familiar interior didn't creep into his dreams.

But, would Sherlock even take him back as a flat mate, let alone a friend?

                                                                            *

Two weeks later, John found himself standing across the road, staring at 221B Baker Street.

Soft snow flakes brushed across his cheeks and he quickly raised his glove-covered hands to dry his face. It was three weeks 'till Christmas, and John found himself homeless. Mary wouldn't talk to him, and neither would any of his friends. Apparently, all this with the divorce was  _his_  fault. Then, the hotel he had been staying at had thrown him out. They had said he had been disruptive. John thought otherwise.

John looked up at the window in his old apartment. There was a nice, golden glow coming from inside, and John could tell that a fire was surely roaring, He longed for the coziness.

Suddenly, Sherlock's silhouette came into view and John felt his heart seize up for a few seconds, his breath caught in his throat, until his heart started to beat as a faster pace than before.

Despite the biting cold and John's cracked knuckles, he felt sweat break out on his palms and over his brow. John almost felt sick with...what was it? Anxiety? Anticipation?...Guilt?

John pushed away his feelings for now and reached down for his two small bags and started across the street. 

John had been forced to rent a small storage unit, with his already limited money so he had somewhere to keep the rest of his belongings.

John stood back, gazing up at the familiar black door. He was stalling, and John knew it. It wasn't because he felt guilty, or that he blamed Sherlock for anything. It was nothing to do with their falling out. No, what John really dreaded above everything else, was the awkwardness. It's inevitability to crop up at sometime, that was, if Sherlock even  _let_  John inside. John knew only too well that Sherlock could be cold to whoever he thought deserved his penetrating and intimidating glares, or his snide comments to help lower your esteem.

None of that mattered, John realised, as he heard Sherlock start to play a vaguely familiar tune on the violin. All that mattered right now was finding somewhere warm and safe to camp out for a few nights, before everything got sorted out.

With little vigour, John rapped his knuckles three times on the door, wincing when he remembered his cracked hands. John heard the violin stop abruptly. There was a break of a few seconds, and then Sherlock went back to playing his song.

John sighed and whipped off one of his gloves. He awkwardly knocked another three times with the palm of his hand. He put both his bags on the ground beside him, put his gloves in his pockets and waited.

The violin playing had stopped again, and John heard hurried footsteps on the stairs.

''Who's there?'' Came Sherlock's voice. John could tell Sherlock was at the foot of the stairs by how muffled his voice sounded. John was also mildly surprised. Sherlock sounded just the same, just as he had remembered. Some silly part of John's brain had just assumed Sherlock's voice would grow deeper, like when you meet a teenage relative who was a child last time you saw them.

''I said 'Who's there?' '' Sherlock called again, his feet silently moving closer to the door.

The old doctor only had to wait half a minute, until he heard the locks being opened on the other side of the door. John took a deep breath to ready himself. Who knew how Sherlock would react?

The door swung open and Sherlock stepped forward to see who it was. If he was in anyway surprised, he didn't show it. All the clever detective did was raise a questioning eyebrow.

''John.'' He stated, with the smallest hint of confusion in his voice.

John smiled up at Sherlock, trying to keep the awkwardness at bay.

''Sherlock.'' John said, still smiling. ''Could I ask you for a favour?''

At this, Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction. He looked at John as if he had said the strangest thing.

''A favour?'' He repeated slowly, as if trying out a new language for the first time.

John dipped his head in a humble sort of way.

''I know, I know. It's been a while, but as it turns out...I'm a little bit homeless at the moment.''

Sherlock stopped himself from sighing. He stood to the side and gave the friendliest fake smile he could muster.

''Well, step in then.'' Sherlock made certain his reluctance was clouded as he waited for John to pick up his bags.

John wasn't as good as hiding his surprise as Sherlock was.

''Oh.'' He said, his face blank apart from his wide eyes. John cleared his throat and bent down to pick up his bags, smiling once again.

John stepped inside, his smile growing. He hadn't realized he had missed Baker Street  _this_ much. He  zipped down his fleecy coat as he took in his surroundings.

Not much had changed. It was brighter in the hallway than he had remembered. The lamp shade was different...but, that was about it.

But, of course, poor Mrs. Hudson's flat was empty. She had passed away only two years ago due to breast cancer. She had left Sherlock all of 221 Baker Street, but it was obvious that he still only lived upstairs. John hadn't been able to attend Mrs. Hudson's funeral.

Sherlock took one of John's bags from his hands and started up the stairs.

''How long will you be staying for?''

John followed Sherlock up the stairs.

''I don't know, but don't worry. If I start to annoy you, I'll find somewhere else to stay.''

' _' John_  .'' Sherlock breathed, rolling his eyes. ''I'm not going to kick you out if you've nowhere to go.''

John nodded, even though Sherlock couldn't see him.

''Well,'' John said. ''Thank you.''

''No problem.'' Sherlock murmured.

They were at the top of the stairs now and Sherlock was opening the door into his part of the house.

John felt his stomach in knots again. Was he really so eager to see his old home again? John decided to just shrug it off for now. 

The door clicked open and Sherlock stepped inside. He placed John's bag on the couch, which hadn't moved. John walked in slowly, his eyes wide as he inspected the flat.

Sherlock shuffled behind John and closed the door. He walked over to his violin next, and put it in a box with red velvet lining the inside. That was new.

As was he TV covering the wall where their mirror used to be. The mirror now covered the obnoxious yellow smiley face which had been on the opposite wall. 

John placed his bag on the ground and shrugged off his coat, putting it on top of his luggage.

''You covered up the face.'' John pointed out.

Sherlock nodded and walked over to his arm chair. He picked his laptop up and opened the screen, still standing.

''It was a bit childish, don't you think?'' Sherlock answered almost distantly, glancing up at the mirror while typing away.

John nodded, starting to feel awkward.

''So, where can I stay? Is there still my old bedroom?''

''Yes.'' Sherlock answered quickly, closing his laptop and putting it on his chair.

''I've been summoned to Scotland Yard. I'll get around to setting up your bedroom when I get back. Make yourself at home.'' Sherlock started to pull on his coat and scarf. The same old coat and scarf he used to wear.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. ''Half seven...''

John raised an eyebrow. ''Half seven?''

''They want me there at half seven.''

''But it's,'' John glanced at his own watch. ''...eight.''

Sherlock opened the door and started down the stairs. 

''Exactly, I'm late.''

John followed Sherlock down the stairs. ''Since when has being late bothered you?''

Sherlock shrugged and pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen lightly while he typed out a text.

''Since now, I suppose.'' Sherlock shoved his phone back in his pocket. He smiled at John.

''As I've said, make yourself at home. Have some tea.''

John nodded and watched Sherlock reach for the door. The detective stopped and spun around, his eyes sparkling.

''You could always come with me, you know.''

John laughed softly. He wanted to go, but for some reason he didn't want Sherlock knowing he was going for him.

''Lestrade still around?'' John asked, keeping his voice light.

Sherlock nodded. ''Yes.''

John smiled. ''Well, it would be nice to see him again.''

Sherlock saw through John's act, obviously, but he played along. 

''So are you coming?''

John couldn't help it. He had missed the exciting life of Sherlock Holmes. He missed being the side kick, even if it meant that people went through him sometimes to get to Sherlock.

John grinned. ''Let me get my coat.''

This time, Sherlock wasn't so good at hiding what he felt. A smile broke across his features. He watched John run up the stairs.

The consulting detective chuckled to himself as he opened the door, feeling better than he had felt in years.

 


	2. Chapter Two

The cab ride to Scotland Yard lasted a bit longer than usual. It was to be expected, though. It was nearly Christmas and it was snowing. Sherlock still hadn't quite worked out what was so exciting about snow....It was  _cold._  


John was silently grateful for the traffic. He hadn't visited London that much over the past four years. Only if he needed to buy something important or if a friend lived here would he leave the English countryside for the bustling London.

It was Mary who had wanted to live in the country. And, of course John had agreed to it. 

John sighed, trying to block off the feelings of resentment and hatred. Eight years of his life wasted with that woman...

''So, what happened with Mary? Am I allowed to ask?'' Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on the passing shops, waiting for John to answer.

John nodded, a little bitterly. ''Yeah, you can ask.''

''You sound angry, John.''

John snorted. ''Do I?''

Sherlock looked blankly at him. ''...Yes.''

John rolled his eyes. ''Well, I have every right to be!''

''Oh, I bet you do.'' Sherlock paused. ''...Tell me about it.''

John looked up at Sherlock. Not one of his friends had asked him the full story.

''We got divorced.'' John stated plainly, looking out his window.

''Well, obviously, but why?''

John's head snapped back to Sherlock. ''Obviously?''

Sherlock sighed and pointed to John's hand. ''You're not wearing your ring.''

''Loads of people don't wear their wedding rings.'' John shrugged.

''Yes,'' Sherlock continued.''But you  _did_ wear your wedding ring. There's a slight dent or marking on your finger from years of wearing it.''

John pursed his lips. ''That all?''

''Not quite.'' Sherlock started. ''If you were only taking a break from Mary, or if you'd only had a row, you wouldn't go to somewhere you once called home. The fact that you are visiting somewhere you used to live means you're looking for somewhere more permanent. You could've done this knowingly, or without realizing. So, if you were hoping to go back to your wife you would be staying at a hotel or B&B until you returned. It would also be somewhere much nearer to your more recent abode. Not a place that you view as ''home''.''

John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before letting out a small, tinkling laugh.

''I almost forgot you did that.''

Sherlock smirked, but shrugged.

''But, I had been in a hotel, you know.''

Sherlock nodded. ''Yes, but that was back when you were still upset about the divorce. So, you in your drunken state would've thought about going back to Mary.''

John huffed angrily. '' ' _Drunken_   _state_ ' ?''

Sherlock smiled at John. ''Don't be like that. I'm not judging. How can I be? Me, with my cigarettes and nicotine patches.''

John nodded. He didn't feel like being angry with Sherlock. ''I suppose so.''

John laughed and Sherlock looked at him, smiling.

''What's funny?''

''They threw me out. The hotel.''

Sherlock laughed softly and looked back out his window. ''What did you do?''

John sighed. ''I'm not sure, really.'' He admitted. ''I think I started shouting out about what had happened and when they tried to make me go up to my room I started telling them they couldn't do that because I was an army doctor.

Sherlock looked at John ''Oh, that may be Dr.Watson...but, you had bad days.''

John laughed and nodded. ''That's right.''

John looked up at Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock smiled back, but only for a second, feeling a blush beginning to creep up his neck.

And, the taxi drove onto Scotland Yard.

                                                                       *

Sherlock knocked on Lestrade's office door.

''Who is it?'' Lestrade called. He sounded irritated.

''Who do you think?'' Sherlock answered, opening the door and stepping inside. John waited outside.

Lestrade gave Sherlock a stern look.

''You're late...Who's that with you?''

Sherlock managed to swallow his smile. ''It's John.''

Lestrade stared up at Sherlock, his eyes wide.

''By John, you mean...John Watson?''

''The very same.'' Sherlock looked right into Lestrade's eyes, and leaned his hands on his desk.

''And, you're not going to say  _anything_ to him, are you?''

Lestrade glared up at Sherlock.

''I wasn't going to, no.''

Sherlock stepped away. ''Marvellous!'' He exclaimed, his sudden mood change disturbing Lestrade only slightly.

''You can come in, John.'' Sherlock called out the door.

A moment later, John walked into the room. Lestrade jumped up from his seat and walked over to John. He clasped his old friend's hand and shook it.

''What on earth are you doing here?'' He asked buoyantly.

John smiled at Lestrade. ''I'm sort of living with Sherlock again.''

Lestrade smiled at John, but cast a worried glanced at Sherlock when John wasn't looking.

Sherlock glowered at Lestrade, begging him to act normal.

Lestrade cleared his throat. ''What about Mary? Where is she?  _How_ is she?''

John smiled sadly. ''Divorce. 'bout a month ago.''

Lestrade's eyes widened. ''Oh, John. I'm so sorry. You okay?''

''I'm fine, I'm fine.'' John said, glancing over at Sherlock and back just as quickly. 

''Some things just aren't mean to be, right?''

Lestrade nodded, not knowing what to say.

''Why did you call me here?'' Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.

Lestrade walked back behind his desk. He pulled out three pictures taken from security cameras out of a drawer, and placed them on the desk for Sherlock to see.

''Sebastian. This is all we could find of him from the past week. I do not know how he's doing it, Sherlock.''

Sherlock picked up on of the pictures. Sebastian in a supermarket, wearing a hoodie.

''I don't know either, That's what makes this so worrying.''

John raised an eyebrow and stepped forward.

''You still haven't found him?''

Lestrade looked up at John. ''How did you know he had even been sighted?'' Lestrade asked sharply.

John looked at Lestrade innocently. ''Sherlock called me about two weeks ago.''

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and sighed.

''If I remember correctly, this was a strictly confidential investigation.''

Sherlock pulled himself up. ''Sebastian once he tried to  _kill_  John. I thought it would be safer for him to know he had been sighted.''

Lestrade let out a long breath. '' I suppose you've a point.''

''Of course I do. I'm me.'' Sherlock answered, buttoning up his coat.

''Yeah,'' John added. ''And, a heads up was nice because, you know...he once wanted me dead.''

Lestrade nodded. He looked tired.

''Just hurry up with a solution, Sherlock. Before he gets to do something dangerous.''

                                                                        *

When the two were back at Baker Street, Sherlock informed John there was still a bed and wardrobes in the doctor's old room. Sherlock went into his room and brought out a sleeping bag for John.

John sauntered up to his room, while Sherlock sat himself in his armchair with a glass of port. He switched on the TV and stared up at it as he flicked through the channels.

He couldn't stop thinking about John. A part of Sherlock nearly hated John, but tonight that had been clouded by this unexpected and immense wave of happiness. So, yes, Sherlock was happy to see his old friend, but he held a major grudge against him, which would eventually need to be sorted out.

John opened the door to his room and searched the wall blindly for the switch. John squinted against the sudden bright light. John closed the door behind him. Once his vision had cleared, he looked about the room.

Everything was the  _exact_ same. All items were untouched and held a layer of dust. John's eyes raked over his bed. He felt something tug at his heart as his eyes fell on a pillow, obviously Sherlock's, which was in the centre of the bed.

A sudden image of Sherlock curled up, crying on this bed jumped into John's mind. He took a step back and blinked, ridding his mind of this picture.

What the hell had that been? John sighed to himself and set his bags on the end of the bed.

There was a knock on John's door and he turned around just as the door opened.

''Sherlock?'' John noticed he sounded out of breath and his cheeks were burning up.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask.

''I just came up here to get my pillow.''

John nodded and stood out of Sherlock's way. Sherlock snatched up his pillow and made way for the door.

''Why was it here, Sherlock?''

''Hmm?'' Sherlock spun on his heel so he was facing John again.

''The pillow. Why was it in my room?''

Sherlock instantly straightened up and his face became blank. Unreadable. ''This was my room for a while.'' He answered, almost robotically.

John stared curiously at Sherlock for a few seconds. ''You okay?''

Sherlock didn't answer straight away.

''I'm fine.'' He eventually made out.

John's eyes widened. Sherlock sounded like he was choking up.

''Sherlock?'' John asked, starting to feel worried.

Sherlock turned and walked out of the room. 

''I'm going to bed now. Goodnight, John.''

And with that, the detective flew down the stairs, leaving John confused as ever.


	3. Chapter Three

Sherlock woke early in the day, the sky was still dark and if he hadn't had a watch he would have thought it was still three in the morning. But, no. It was actually seven in the morning, and Sherlock had decided he was bored with dreaming.

He pulled his body out of bed, his muscles stiff for some unknown, and slightly annoying reason. He switched on his light and walked over to his wardrobe. He opened the door and looked in the mirror attached. He ruffled his hair and turned away, ignoring his dark eyes.

He put on his dressing gown and walked out into the sitting room, not really caring too much if he woke up John or not.

Since the excitement of yesterday, Sherlock had given himself some time to think about what John living with him again could actually mean. His initial response was delight. Positive feelings for something that made him so very happy.

...But, so much had happened between the old friends. Maybe a little too much for things ever to go back to the way they were. Sherlock wished with every part of him that he could forgive John. He wanted to go back to being able to see John's face without any feelings of resentment being there. Maybe the only way he could ever get this to go away would be for John to apologize. To say sorry for absolutely everything which he had pinned on Sherlock.

Sherlock padded into the kitchen and opened up the fridge. A stale bottle of milk and some gone off vegetables. Time to go shopping.

Sherlock grumbled to himself, wishing he could just have a day alone, at home with no distractions.

John would probably go into a fit of laughter if Sherlock had told him how he wanted to spend his day. Because the Sherlock John had known was erratic and excited and always raring to go. If boredom had crept up on John's Sherlock, Sherlock would've been miserable for days. But, he wasn't John's Sherlock any more. He had never been John's Sherlock.

Sherlock's tummy rumbled and he rolled his eyes at himself. ''Fine, fine.'' Sherlock mumbled to himself (it had become a habit) while he walked back to his room to get changed.

                                                                               *

John woke up to the smell of bacon. He smiled to himself and rolled over onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. What a day yesterday had been. He hadn't wanted to admit to himself how much he had missed Sherlock... not just 221B Baker Street. Not Lestrade. Not the thrill of the case. Just...Sherlock.

John needed to clear out his head. He needed to sort through what all this meant. He was hoping Sherlock wouldn't bring up their falling out...would he? Was he even still angry? It was years ago, after all.

John let a hand flop over to the bedside table. He felt around blindly until he found his phone. He switched it on and saw that it was nine in the morning. John guessed he should get up. Besides, that food smelled delicious.

John threw on a grey t-shirt and some worn out jeans, and trotted down the stairs. He was at the door to the kitchen when he finally remembered Sherlock's odd behaviour from the night before. Should he bring it up? He knew only too well that Sherlock had never been one for talking about his emotions...but, then again, that had been seven years ago. Maybe he had learned since then. John shook his head, almost laughing at himself. Sherlock, no matter how much time he'd had, would never change how he viewed his feelings.

John opened the door and walked into the kitchen. His face fell when he saw the food he had smelled from upstairs was in fact, burning. John quickly turned off the stove and grill. He used a spatula to prod about the burnt eggs. John frowned and turned around. Sherlock was standing in the sitting room, his back to John. He was reading something off his phone, his hand shaking slightly.

John raised an eyebrow and stepped towards the sitting room. ''Sherlock?''

The detective jumped and turned around to John. ''Oh! John...yes...we need to see Lestrade.''

John sighed irritably. ''Already? I'm barely awake...why don't you just go?''

Sherlock bit his lip. ''You need to come.''

John raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sherlock's phone in his hand. ''Let me see your phone.''

Sherlock shook his head and stepped back, clutching the phone to his chest. ''John...just...to the station? Please?''

John rolled his eyes and started towards Sherlock, reaching for the phone. ''Don't be so bloody childish, Sherlock. What's wrong? Tell me what's on your phone!''

Sherlock shoved it down his shirt, certain that John wouldn't go for it now. He smiled triumphantly. ''Come to the station and I'll tell you.''

John reached forward and stuck his hand down Sherlock's shirt, and grabbed the phone, muttering insults at Sherlock under his breath. Sherlock gasped and jumped away from John. 

John opened up 'messages' and clicked on the newest. He heard Sherlock sigh beside him, but chose to ignore him as he read the text.

You've been tailing me for a while now, haven't you, you clever detective?

Ah, but are you really that clever? You should have assumed that I was also following you. Now that I know where John is, I find it so deliciously easy to steal your pet from you for a few hours' torture. 

You stop following me right now, or this will end up being worse than torture. Give Johnny my love.

John finished the text and handed Sherlock back his phone. ''Oh.'' 

Sherlock shook his head and glared at John. He started to type out a new message on his phone. ''Never do that again, John.'' Sherlock muttered, his voice steady, but his face burning up. 

John nodded dumbly and started to back out of the room. ''Is it even safe for me to be in a room on my own?'' John asked, his hand on the door knob. 

Sherlock sighed and looked up from his text. ''For now, it is. He'll want to keep us on our toes for a few days...maybe even weeks. But, after a day or two, you shouldn't be left alone.''

John's eyes widened a fraction. ''But...that's impossible. I have to pee, I have to get dressed!''

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ''You really think Sebastian's going to attack you in the bathroom?''

John glowered at Sherlock, tried to find a come back, but came up with nothing. ''Shut up.'' He muttered under his breath. 

''What was that?'' Sherlock asked, returning his gaze back to his phone. 

''Nothing. It's just...does this mean I'm going to have to spend every minute of everyday with you? ...where do I sleep?'' John asked, distaste colouring his voice.

Sherlock pretended John's words didn't hurt so much as he went for his coat. ''We'll come to that later. I'm leaving in ten minutes. Get dressed.''

John stalked out of the room. Sherlock heard his feet banging on each step and he rolled his eyes again. 

''You're acting like it's all my fault.'' Sherlock called up the stairs. 

''It's always your fault.'' John shouted back, then slammed his door.

                                                                                 *

Only one day it had taken. One day, and they were back at each other's throats like they had been. This definitely proved that they could never be friends again. They had obviously been through too much together. 

Sherlock stared out the window in the back of the cab, not saying a word.  _''It's always your fault''._ Sherlock resisted the urge to reach across to John and hit him across the head. This was so incredibly typical. When Sherlock had come back ''from the dead'', he had finally realized that it was not he who was so stubborn, but in fact, it was John. He just couldn't admit that he might be behind the reason they could no longer click. Sherlock wasn't denying that he had any part of this. He knew he had. He pushed their friendship to their boundaries...but, so had John. And, John needed to realize this!

As soon as they were at Scotland Yard, Sherlock hopped out of the cab, letting John pay for them as he strode up to Lestrade. The door burst open and Sherlock walked in. You could practically see his anger rolling off him.

''He's doing it again. I can't take it. He's doing it again.''

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ''I knew this would happen...Sherlock, why did you let him in? You had finally moved on!'' 

Sherlock shook his head bitterly. ''Oh, I should have never told you, either.''

Lestrade stared at Sherlock in disbelief. ''You didn't tell me! I found you, all drunken and sad! So, don't be disrespectful. I helped you get back on your feet. Be a little thankful.''

Sherlock lowered his gaze and stared at the floor, feeling ashamed. He was about to apologize when John walked in. 

''You gonna tell me how to stop him now?'' John demanded, walking straight to Lestrade, ignoring Sherlock.

Sherlock blocked out the noise of John's complaining. He shook his head sadly and walked out the office. 

''This is why you don't fall in love with him, Sherlock.'' He grumbled to himself, making way for the stairs.


	4. Chapter Four

After about half an hour, Lestrade went to find Sherlock. He was sitting out on the front steps, a cigarette resting on his lips. Soft swirls of smoke escaped his mouth and his face was blank.

Lestrade sat himself down beside Sherlock and sighed. '' Could you spare a cigarette?''

Sherlock rooted around his coat pocket and eventually pulled one out. He lit it up and passed it to Lestrade.

''I thought you didn't smoke.''

''Desperate times...'' Lestrade murmured, before taking a drag.

Sherlock nodded, then exhaled.''Why're you here, Lestrade? Wanna talk about our feelings? Cuddle? Do each other's make up?'' Sherlock snorted, but then turned serious. ''That one time I...opened up...was a once off, Lestrade.''

''C'mon, Sherlock. Who else have you got to open up to?''

''No one,'' Sherlock grumbled. ''But, that's not a problem.''

Lestrade rolled his eyes. ''Bloody sociopath or not. Whatever you call yourself...You need to talk. I actually know about these things, Sherlock. I'm not all stupid.''

Sherlock sighed and turned his head to Lestrade.

''What do you expect me to say? That you were right? That I should've known better?...Well, that's true. I shouldn't have let him in again.''

''To your house, or to your life?'' Lestrade asked, wondering if he was pushing his boundaries with Sherlock.

Sherlock glowered at Lestrade. ''A bit of both, I suppose.'' He answered reluctantly.

''But, how do you  _feel_  ,Sherlock?''

''Angry.'' Sherlock answered immediately. ''I feel so, so  _angry_   with him. And...just...''

''Heart broken?'' Lestrade asked in a small voice.

''Heart broken?'' Sherlock laughed bitterly. He raised his cigarette to his lips once more.

''That's a whole other story.''

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock. ''Do you still love him?''

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he stared at Lestrade in disbelief. How dare he ask such a question? The detective stood up and tossed his cigarette onto the ground. He put out its light with his shoe. Lestrade took his place beside Sherlock, mimicking his actions.

''Well, do you?''

Sherlock stared at Lestrade for quite some time, before turning his head away. ''So, what are we going to do about Sebastian?'' And, he started for the door and walked ahead, not waiting for Lestrade.

''Damn machine.'' Lestrade muttered under his breath, before following Sherlock up to his office, where John waited.

                                                                             *

John didn't acknowledge Sherlock when he walked back into Lestrade's office. Sherlock rolled his eyes and didn't allow himself to feel hurt by John's childishness. But, once Lestrade was back, John jumped up from his seat, ready for answers.

''Are you going to tell me what that text message meant?''

Sherlock stepped forward. ''It meant exactly what it said.''

John raised an eyebrow. ''So...Sebastian plans to torture and possibly murder me?'' His voice shook.

Sherlock nodded, and couldn't help but feel worried for John. ''Yes...that's what he _intends_  on doing.''

John glared up at Sherlock. ''Well, that's just great.''

Sherlock shook his head at John and let out an exasperated sigh. ''Stop acting like this is my fault!''

John only muttered something nonsensical under his breath, and turned back to Lestrade. 

''What do I do? How do I keep safe?''

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ''Yous can both fight, so if he struck you, you could hopefully hold him off. But... to be safe, John...I think you should stay with Sherlock.''

Sherlock prepared himself for John's nasty reply, but it didn't come.

''Fine.'' John replied, his voice sounding tired.

Sherlock relaxed a little ''Fine.'' He also said.

Lestrade tried a smile. ''See? Improvement, guys.''

John muttered something else under his breath, Sherlock glared at the back of John's head.

''Didn't quite catch that, John.''

John turned around to Sherlock, his face hostile and unwelcoming. ''I said, 'It's not an improvement'.''

Sherlock smiled coldly at John. ''Care to elaborate?''

John returned a forced, tight-lipped smile. ''Gladly.''

''Well, go ahead, then.'' Sherlock replied, stepping into John's face.

''Oh, don't do this in front of me...''Lestrade mumbled in the background. He was ignored. 

John took a breath before starting in. ''Nothing's  _improving._  Nothing has changed. You're still stubborn and emotionless as a robot,''-Sherlock couldn't help it, he winced-''You still go around like you  _own_  the place. You walk around thinking you're better. You love yourself. The only reason I'm spending any time with you...is just so I don't get killed!''

Sherlock nodded, bit his lip and forced a smile on his face. ''Very good...Very well presented, that.''

Sherlock turned and strode towards the door. ''Next time,'' he called over his shoulder. ''Next time delivering your debate...'' Sherlock spun around and looked at John. He looked sad and betrayed. His lip quivered in an attempt to remain calm. ''Make sure all your 'facts' are correct!''

Finally, Sherlock walked out of the office, leaving John feeling more than a little stumped.

John turned to Lestrade, his eyes wide. 

''What the bloody hell is  _wrong_  with him?''

Lestrade rolled his eyes. ''Oh, cop on, John!''

John stared incredulously at Lestrade. ''Oh, not you too. You're on Sherlock's side?  _Really_  ?''

Lestrade sighed and sat down at his desk. He motioned with his hand for John to take the seat opposite. John sat down and waited for Lestrade to start speaking.

Lestrade took his time, wondering how to phrase this without getting into a fight with John.

''The thing is...I do agree with Sherlock.''

''How can you possibly agree with that man? He's insa-''

''No! John! You're the one who's acting up! You're creating these problems, and Sherlock is only acting as he should be!''

''How  _dare_  you. You know  _nothing_  about what happened between us.''

''I know plenty, John. More than you, in fact.''

John looked amused, he leaned back in his chair. ''I'm all ears.''

Lestrade leaned forward. ''Sherlock doesn't hear a word of this, right?''

John nodded. He was intrigued. ''What?''

''Not one word, John.''

''Fine. Tell me.''

Lestrade sighed, he felt guilty about telling John all this...but, the fact that it could actually help them to be friends again, made him spill.

''You know when Sherlock faked his death. You were so upset, and it took you ages to move on. But, you found Mary...you finally moved on.''

''Yeah...?''

''Well, I guess, when Sherlock came back, he was expecting everything to go back to the way it was. Just the two of you, fighting crime, having fun.''

''So...?''

''But, you had settled down, John. And...like all of us, you were pissed off with him once he came back.''

''How has this got anything to do with how Sherlock is acting now?''

Lestrade hesitated. ''Well...you had your falling out. You guys just lost you spark or something, I dunno.''

''Yeah, I know. I was there.''

''John...he was...''

''Yes?''

Lestrade hesitated again, looking John in the eyes. ''He was heart broken, John.''

John was quiet for a moment. ''How could you possibly know any of that?''

''Because he wouldn't answer his phone.''

John raised an eyebrow, questioning Lestrade.

''I had some work I needed him to survey. By this stage, you had moved to the country with Mary...He wouldn't answer his phone. So, I went over to Baker Street...I found him in his house. He was completely out of his head. He was so angry and upset with you, John.''

''Why?''

''He said that he...''

John's eyes were wide. What was that he was feeling? Hope? ''What did he say?''

''He said that he was in love with you, John.''

John's face would've been blank if his eyes hadn't been so wide in disbelief.

''Is he still... _in love_  with me?'' John choked, unsure on how he felt about this.

Lestrade let out a long breath. ''I don't know. But...that's the point. You don't understand what he's been through. He's worried for you life, John. Ever since Sebastian...just, John?''

''Yes?'' John's voice was quiet.

''Just lighten up around him...in case he  _does_  feel the same as before.''

John stood up and went for the door.

''Yeah, I will.''

''John? You okay?''

''Yeah...just unsure on how I feel about this.'' And with that, he left the room, his heart pounding. 


	5. Chapter Five

Sherlock heard the front door open with the spare key he had given John. Were they going to fight again? Sherlock was  _not_  in the mood. He just wanted either John to leave him in peace...or to admit to what he did.

John walked slowly up the stairs, his stomach doing flips. How could he have not noticed Sherlock's love for him? Now that it was pointed out to him, it was so incredibly obvious. John swung open the door into the sitting room. Sherlock was standing at the window, staring out. He had his back to John, and the Doctor couldn't make out his reflection in the window. It was only four in the afternoon, but it was already starting to get dark outside.

''Hey, Sherlock.'' John said, walking in and collapsing onto the couch. 

Sherlock could tell just from John's voice that he had had a change of heart, for a reason that was still unknown to him. Sherlock turned around and looked at John. He was waiting for John to...Well, he didn't know. What was he waiting for?

John looked up at Sherlock, his face was sad and resigned. Not irritated or annoyed like before. He felt...guilty. John had to admit that to himself. He had been horrible to Sherlock. He knew he had...and, now he wanted to go back and change everything that had happened in the last seven years. He couldn't, though. John got up from his seat, keeping his eye contact with Sherlock.

He rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock looked down at John's hand for a split second, then back to John's eyes. ''What are you...?''

John sighed. ''I'm just...''

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ''You're just what?''

John bit his lip and dropped his gaze with Sherlock. He felt a horrible lump in his throat. He didn't understand why he felt  _so_  bad. They were talking, weren't they? But, John knew at his very core, that the reason he felt so bad was because he was the reason Sherlock's life had turned upside down. 

''John?'' Sherlock prompted. 

John looked back up into Sherlock's eyes. ''I'm sorry.'' John whispered softly.

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction and his face softened up completely. Who was he kidding? He still loved John, and all it would take would be for John to apologize. ''It's fine.'' He heard himself mutter before his brain could catch up with him.

John winced and took his hand away. ''No...it's really not. But...before we find another reason to fight, I want you to know that I am sorry. And...you have every right to be acting to way you are.''

Sherlock could only nod. He watched John hang his head, contemplate something. He obviously decided against it, because he turned his back on Sherlock and headed for the stairs. 

Sherlock stepped forward. ''Uh...Lestrade said that maybe we should both camp out in here. Safer for you...you know.''

John nodded, not sure if he dreaded it. ''I'll just get my sleeping bag.''

Sherlock nodded and let John walk off. Once John was out of ear shot, and out of sight, Sherlock let his eyes widen, let himself release his breath. He fumbled backwards until he landed in his armchair. That had been unexpected. What the Hell had happened back at the station to make John change his mind-

Sherlock gasped, then frowned. ''Dammit, Lestrade.'' He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Lestrade answered on the second ring. 

''What the Hell did I say about telling him?''

''Woah, woah, woah. I didn't tell him everything!'' Lestrade tried at defending himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ''You're lying!''

''No, I'm not! And, you've no way of telling. You have to see me to do all the deduce-y stuff!''

''And, just by you saying that, I'm going to assume you told him!''

''How could you possibly know? I didn't tell him!'' Lestrade lied.

Sherlock pursed his lips. ''Okay, fine. I don't know. How could I? But, if I find out you did, I'll-''

''You'll what? Thank me for him having a change of heart?''

Sherlock's eyes became slits. ''Fine. Thank you for that...but, that was my business. You had no right in telling him.''

Sherlock heard Lestrade sigh. ''Fine, fine. Just...come see me tomorrow.''

''Fine.'' Sherlock snapped, then hung up. 

Sherlock heard John coming down the stairs, so he got up from his seat to set up some fold out beds for himself and John. What a wonderfully, awkward night this would be!


	6. Chapter Six

Sherlock let John take the couch, while he curled up in his arm chair. He switched on the TV, without asking for John's consent, and started to flick through the channels. The light from the TV danced across the dark walls and drawn curtains.

John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye. He had been planning on sleeping...but, Sherlock obviously had another idea. John wrapped his sleeping bag around him and shuffled over to his armchair. He took his seat beside Sherlock and gazed up at the screen.

''What are we watching?''

Sherlock glanced at John, then back to the screen. He shrugged.

''I don't know. Nothing yet.''

John nodded absently. ''Here, give me the remote.''

Sherlock tossed John the remote and snuggled into his duvet.

John started to look through the channels, desperately looking for something to watch to fill the awkward silence. He found a channel dedicated to movies. They were playing an old movie, ' _Rebecca_ '.

Mary had made John watch this when they had first started dating. It was good, John remembered. Very good, actually. Wasn't there some sort of twist at the end of the movie?

''Are we watching it?'' Sherlock asked, his eyes scanning John's face, waiting for an answer.

''Oh...yeah.'' John answered vaguely. He turned up the sound and settled into his armchair.

''What are we watching, John?''

'' ' _Rebecca_ ', now shhh.'' John whispered as the adverts ended.

Sherlock exhaled softly and turned his gaze up to the TV.

The movie was in black an white. Sherlock's preferred type of film. The old classics. The camera started to go along a windy lane. A woman's voice came on. Her voice was sweet, with her perfect diction and smooth accent. ''Last night, I dreamt I was back at Manderley...''

And so, the movie went on. Of course, as soon as the 'twist' of the story was revealed, John gasped and Sherlock muttered ''Obviously'' under his breath.

John fell asleep near the end of the movie, his hold on his blanket loosening. Sherlock looked over at John to ask if he wanted tea when he saw that the doctor had fallen into sleep. Sherlock smiled a little to himself and got up from his chair, draping his blanket over his shoulders as he walked. He stopped at John and bent down, picking up John's blanket, and the remote. Sherlock turned off the TV and the room was thrown into darkness. Sherlock let his eyes adjust, before gently laying John's blanket on him, and tucking it in at his neck.

Sherlock made a quick cup of tea, cringing at how loud the kettle was. He made his way over to the couch, seeing as John had fallen asleep in his chair. He made himself comfortable, and clutched onto his mug, savouring the heat on this cold, Winter's night. He took a sip, and swallowed, ignoring the scolding hotness of the tea. Eventually, the detective fell into a deep sleep, full of dreams he would probably never admit to having.

                                                                      *

John woke first. His neck warm and snug from his blanket, but hurting from the awkward position he had been sleeping in. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He glanced over at Sherlock. His face looked so peaceful, so childish, so nice-

John blinked. What...? John squeezed his eyes shut and lightly slapped his face.

''Snap out of it, Watson.''

''Snap out of what?'' Came Sherlock's sleepy drawl. John felt his face heat up. He looked away.

''Uh...nothing.'' His mouth was dry.

Sherlock cracked his eyes open, he smiled tiredly at John.

''Oh, very believable.'' He said sarcastically. ''But, obvious that you don't want to talk about it.''

John pursed his lips and nodded, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock pulled himself up so he was sitting. He was still wearing his shirt from the day before, but now it was crumpled.

''Sleep well?'' Sherlock asked, filling the silence. 

John nodded and rose from his seat, walking into the kitchen to make some coffee.

''Really?'' Sherlock called from the sitting room. ''No bad dreams?''

John raised an eyebrow and walked back into Sherlock. now holding a small carton of milk.

''How'd you know?''

Sherlock smiled sadly. ''Yesterday you saw a text from Sebastian to me saying he was mad and eager enough to torture and possibly murder you. I'd be worried if you  _didn't_  have any nightmares.''

John snorted a laugh. ''Guess so.'' He said, making his way back into the kitchen.

Sherlock let his smile drop a little, then heaved himself off the couch. He yawned, spreading his arms above his head.

''Mind if I get washed up? You mind being on your own?''

''Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.'' John called, pouring his coffee into a mug, while Sherlock went to the bathroom to get dressed.

                                                                         *

And so, the week progressed as such. Well...not as happy as they had been. Tempers rose and the two found it increasingly difficult to remain in each other's company for so long.

It had been seven days since the text message from Sebastian. John wouldn't dare admit it, but he was starting to get scared and paranoid and just altogether agitated. He was being snarky and rude towards Sherlock once again.

And Sherlock tried with everything in him not to get hurt. He shouldn't have allowed himself to accept his feelings. He hated John so much, it was almost unbearable. But, he loved him. He loved him more than anything. More than the hate. It was unhealthy and it hurt Sherlock, like it had hurt before. He didn't know what he was feeling. Sometimes he felt like punching John. Other times a tender kiss was all he dreamt about. 

Either way, it needed to be sorted out as soon as possible.


	7. Chapter Seven

John groaned when Sherlock went back to the discovery channel.

''Oh, can we not? I think I know enough about jellyfish or monkeys or...any of those Goddamn things!''

Sherlock frowned at John. ''I thought you were enjoying it. All you had to do was say so.'' He tossed John the remote.

John felt a small pang of guilt, but hid it. ''...Whatever.'' John mumbled.

Suddenly, Sherlock jumped up from his seat. He walked over to the coat stand and grabbed his coat. ''I've had enough. I'm going out.''

John's eyes widened. ''You can't go out! There's a killer out for me!''

Sherlock barely heard John, and anyway, his judgment had been clouded by hate and hurt.

''Oh, you're a big boy. You can look after yourself.'' Sherlock spat bitterly, storming out of the apartment.

John winced as he heard the door slam, shaking the house.

''What the bloody...?'' John muttered under his breath. He shook his head and made himself get out of his seat.

John was scared. He had felt safe once Sherlock was with him...but, now, as he walked down to make sure the doors were bolted, his heart hammered in his chest.

John locked all the locks on the door. He felt physically ill. He was tempted to call Sherlock to come call back. He would beg. Anything. John didn't want to be tortured. John didn't want to die. He also realised something he never thought he'd feel, but...John was scared to leave Sherlock on his own, now that he saw how broken Sherlock was, John was worried...and he cared. He cared an awful amount. John couldn't help it. He had fall-

John froze as he heard a door creek open from behind him. All thoughts of Sherlock scattered. John could feel his heart pounding everywhere. His head, his chest, his whole body. His mouth had gone dry, and he licked his nervously, hoping to find some hydration. 

                                                                                         *

Sherlock walked along the streets of his beloved city, grumbling to himself and trying not to break down or shout out in fury. He knew he should be back there with John, he knew how frightened the doctor would be.

Sherlock felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He answered it as soon as he saw it was Lestrade.

''Hello-''

''YOU LEFT JOHN ALONE? WHAT THE HELL WOULD DO THAT FOR-''

''Calm down. I was just on my way back. Why do you care anyway?''

''Sherlock!'' Lestrade barked, obviously annoyed. ''He's missing! He's gone!''

Sherlock felt the colour drain from his face. ''No...no, you're lying.''

''I'm not bloody lying, Sherlock.'' Lestrade shouted down the phone, before softening his tone. ''Why would I lie about this?''

Sherlock felt tears well up in his eyes, he spun around in a circle, trying to make sense of the overwhelming fear and guilt he was feeling.

''Where is he now? How can I find before they do anything?''

Sherlock heard Lestrade sigh. ''Well, since you only let us install cameras in your kitchen and hallway...we were worried that we mightn't actually see any of it...but...''

''But, what?''

''Sherlock we saw everything. It's...bad. They've already hurt him.''

Sherlock felt tears slip down his cheeks. 

''What did they do?'' Sherlock asked weekly.

''I don't even know how to  _describe_  it, Sherlock. Come down to the station as soon as you can.''

Sherlock hung up his phone. Only how he noticed people giving him worried and strange looks.

For the first time in all of Sherlock's life, he was completely and utterly  _frozen_. He couldn't gather his thoughts. He could feel himself slipping into insanity. He needed to think straight. He needed to get John, and even though he really didn't want to, watching that clip might give him clues.

But, he couldn't move. It was all his fault. He walked out of the house and left John vulnerable. How could he have done something so stupid and reckless? It was so selfish of him! Maybe, after everything, Sherlock hadn't actually learned a thing. He thought he had learned to put others before himself...but, obviously not...

Sherlock forced himself to start walking in the direction of Scotland Yard. Eventually he must've broken into a run, because he found he was completely out of breath by the time he had gotten to the station. Sherlock sprinted up the stairs to Lestrade's office, and flung open the door.

''Show me it.'' He ordered immediately, his cheeks flushed from all the running. 

Lestrade nodded gravely and rose from his seat. He closed the door behind Sherlock and beckoned for the detective to make his way over to the laptop. Lestrade typed in his password and a screen shot of Sherlock's hallway came up. Lestrade glanced at Sherlock.

''You sure you want to see-''

''I need it for the clues, Lestrade. Hurry up.''

Lestrade sighed and pressed play.

''If you don't mind, I'm not going to watch this for a second time. ''

Sherlock nodded and sat down at the laptop, his stomach twisted in knots. He didn't want to see this.

Suddenly, Sherlock's own image came onto the screen. He saw himself run down the stairs and fling open the door. It slammed shut behind him, shaking to camera for just a second.

After about a minute, John came down the stairs. He looked terrified already, Sherlock didn't want to see that intensify.

Sherlock watched John secure all the locks on their door. Next, the doctor stepped away. He had a look of deep thought on his face. Sherlock felt himself wanting to know what had been going through John's head.

From the corner of the screen, Sherlock could see the door of 221C opening slowly. John was completely oblivious and Sherlock found it hard not to start screaming at John to run out the front door. It was irrational and pointless, but Sherlock still felt the need to do it anyway.

John suddenly tensed. He must've heard a floor board creek or something. His thoughtful expression vanished. He pulled himself up a little, into his old army stance. He's spun around slowly, saying something Sherlock couldn't make out.

Sebastian stepped out from 221C and strode towards John, a big smirk on his face. Sherlock felt his insides go cold at the sight of him. He started speaking, but Sherlock couldn't hear any of it. They hadn't installed speakers. John kept his cold facade up, but Sherlock could tell from the small, almost missable twitches by John's left eye that he was frightened. And really, really nervous.

Sebastian continued to talk, making his way to John slowly. And, John continued to stand his ground. Sherlock could see him trying so hard not to give into the impulse of trying to attack Sebastian or to run away.

Sebastian tilted his head to the side, and Sherlock could tell he was trying to goad John. To Sherlock's complete and utter horror, after a few minutes he saw that Sebastian  _was_ getting to John. John swallowed hard and took a step back, his face now looked pained.

John opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Sebastian stepped forward and struck John across the face, making John stumble back and almost loose his footing.

Sherlock saw John shout ''WHAT WAS THAT FOR?''

Sebastian cocked his head to the side and spat something back at John. His frown turned into a sneer, and whatever he had said must have really upset John, because the good, old doctor charged at Sebastian, tackling him to the ground, where he threw punches and elbows to his face. Somewhere in between blocking John's hits, Sebastian had snaked one of his hands up to John's neck. Sherlock saw John gag, and his hits stopped coming. Sebastian took his opportunity. 

He pushed himself and John up with only the strength of his abs and thighs so they were kneeling. He used both his hands to pull John's face close to his own. He obviously spoke cold words to John, but John only glared back at him. 

Sebastian randomly sent an elbow into John's nose. John cried out and fell back down. Sebastian hopped to his feat and reached inside his pocket. He pulled something small and black out.

Sherlock felt his heart hammering against his chest. Would he kill John? Just like that, with no explanation? But, upon closer inspection, Sherlock found it was not a gun. It was a taser gun. Sherlock nearly puked right there and then. He couldn't watch this happen to John. Sebastian surprised Sherlock by turning to the camera. 

 _'Torture'_   He mouthed before launching himself at John. John fought hopelessly and tried to push Sebastian off, but he couldn't find the right hold. Sebastian hauled John up so he was resting against the wall, not quite standing, but still managing to not fall down. John caught a glimpse at what was in Sebastian's hand and the look of pure fear on his face nearly made Sherlock cry. With no delay or mercy, Sebastian held it to John's neck. 

John instantly fell to the ground, his body twitching, his mouth open in a cry. Sebastian had only given John one shock, but Sherlock knew that more would come for his poor blogger. Sebastian gave John another shock in is neck and John screamed again. Sebastian gave John a small break, the grin on his face making Sherlock want to do many horrible and illegal things to him. He leaned back into John and gave him a shock through his neck, but this time he didn't stop. He just kept it held at John's neck. John's screaming continued and Sherlock saw tears stream down John's face. And, it just kept going.

Sherlock heard himself muttering 'stop it' under his breath. He knew Lestrade was staring at him, but he couldn't care less about him right now. Sherlock watched with wide eyes and it just kept going, he wondered how long John's body could take the pain.

''Oh, please stop.'' Sherlock groaned, tears in his own eyes. 

And, as if Sebastian had heard him. It stopped. John took a couple of seconds to get his brain working again. He started to get onto his hands and knees, his eyes on the front door. Sebastian saw him, sighed dramatically, then kicked John in the face. John fell onto his back, passed out, with blood streaming from his damaged nose.

Sebastian looked back up at the camera and held his hand up to say 'one moment'. He walked back into 221C, and then brought our three big white sheets of paper. He held up the first one.

'Hope you enjoyed the show, Sherlock.'

'You can find me in the basement of the art gallery tonight at nine'

'You come alone. If you bring any police, I'll kill John on the spot. Love ya lots.'

The video stopped. Lestrade was standing behind Sherlock, waiting for him to shout and throw and fit. Instead, Sherlock turned around to Lestrade with tears quickly flowing down his cheeks. 

''I have to go.'' He said quietly.


	8. Chapter Eight

Sherlock hailed a cab as soon as he stepped out of the station. He clamped his teeth together, in fear that he would throw up after seeing John like that. He wasn't able to stop himself from crying, though, and the cab driver shot him worried looks. Sherlock easily ignored him.

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly four. He knew John would be killed on the spot if he dared to go early. No, Sherlock would step through the doors of the gallery at exactly nine. Right now, he had to think of a plan. Think of a plan, and stop crying. This was no time to be crying. 

By the time the cab reached Baker Street, Sherlock had managed to stop the tears from flowing, though he couldn't knock off the feeling of nausea. He paid the cabbie and rushed over to the door, his legs shaking.

He nearly didn't make it to the bathroom. Sherlock collapsed onto the tiles and threw up into his toilet until he was left heaving, having nothing left in him. He let himself slump against the side of their bath, breathing deeply. He had no energy. The great, enigmatic, brilliant detective was so bloody tired. He just wanted to go back in time. Go all those years back. If he had told John he loved him on top of St.Bart's, would his life be much different? Or if he had even told him back when he first figured it out...what would've happened? Would John have been happy with this? Would Sherlock be celebrating his eighth year with John? There was no way of knowing. And...no point in even thinking about it, Sherlock realised as he forced himself to get up. His legs were still shaking, but he could try to keep going. He  _had_  to keep going.

Sherlock brushed his teeth two times before the taste was gone. He splashed his face with cold water and sighed at how puffed up his eyes looked. And then...all he had to do was wait. A lot of waiting. And, even though Sherlock felt he had grown up and moved away from all that childishness...He moped about like a child until it was time to leave.

.Once Sherlock's digital clock read '20:30', he decided it was time to go. He had been on the edge of his seat all afternoon, waiting for it to be the time to go to John's rescue. His heart had not calmed down through all the hours and he found himself back in the bathroom twice more. But, now his waiting was over. He pulled on his coat and scarf, moving as quickly as his body would allow him to. 

As soon as he was out on the street he hailed a cab, making certain no one would steal his ride. He nearly shouted the location to the driver, making the poor young lad jump. He drove quickly through the traffic, probably eager to rid himself of Sherlock's company. Sherlock couldn't have cared less if he scared the driver. If it meant he would pick up his speed, then all the judgment was well worth it. 

Once they were finally at the Gallery, Sherlock swung the door open and left some cash on his seat. He ran around to the back of the building, looking around for a door. He knew Sebastian would expect him to walk straight through the front doors of the gallery. So, obviously he went against it. He knew it would be hard to throw him off, since Sherlock was pretty sure this was a one man job...but, he had to try and trick him some way.

Sherlock hastily picked the lock of an old green door, the paint chipping. The moon was bright in the clear sky and gave Sherlock all the light he needed. Once inside, his hands moved blindly about the wall, searching for a light switch, but before Sherlock could reach it, he was hit over the head. He fell to the ground with a thud.

                                                                           *

Noise. That was the first thing he became aware of. A wispy, shallow noise. What was that? Breathing? Yes. It was his own breathing. Now, he became aware of the horrible throbbing at the back of his head. Maybe he had been too predictable with coming in the back door. He was stupid to have let it happen. 

''Stupid.'' Sherlock muttered under his breath, feeling the rough rope which kept his hands tide to this chair. 

''Sherlock, are you awake?''

John. It was John.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, but was only greeted with more darkness. ''John, is that you?''

''Of course it's me. Did you seriously managed to kept yourself captured? You're supposed to be saving me for God's sake.''

Sherlock's eyes were adjusting to the darkness. He could see John's outline opposite him. He too was tied to chair. ''A little appreciation for trying wouldn't hurt, would it?'' Sherlock answered, his words slurred from the pain in his head.

There was a pause. ''Are you okay?'' John asked.

''Fine, fine. He hit me as I came in. I didn't see him. It was stupid of me to be so obvious...I'm sorry.''

Sherlock heard John sigh. ''It's fine, Sherlock. Now that you're here, you can think up some clever way to get us out of this place.''

''I'll try my best, John.''

Sherlock made out John's nod. 

''...How are you, John?'' Sherlock asked after a small, silent hesitation. ''Are you hurt bad?''

''Well, it hurt when it was happening...but, I'm alright now. I've got to get stitches in my arm and I'm covered in blood...but, I'll survive unless he has anything else up his sleeve.''

''John...''

''Yeah, Sherlock?''

''I'm sorry for leaving you alone.''

A pause.

''John?''

Another pause.

''I'm sorry for making you leave.'' John replied.

Sherlock nodded, a fluttery feeling erupting in his chest. ''How long was I out?''

''Not long. About twenty minutes.''

Sherlock nodded to himself. ''Which would mean he'll be back any min-''

The light flickered on above them, to reveal a large empty concrete room (apart from themselves, obviously and the boxes in the corners). Sebastian walked in from the corner of the room. He grinned at Sherlock and John, holding a poker in his left hand. 

''You ready, guys?''


	9. Chapter Nine

Sherlock saw John start to panic. By God, he hid it well, but not well enough for Sherlock to miss it. And, just because this was John. Because he had been to war, to Hell and back and the fact that he was actually scared of Sebastian...made Sherlock feel a little sick.

Sebastian walked over to John and Sherlock, pulling a wheely chair out from behind some boxes. He smiled all the way through his acts. He sat himself beside the two and sighed a happy sigh. ''It really has been too long, hasn't it?''

''I think I could've waited longer.'' John replied coolly, glaring at Sebastian.

''Ah-ah-ah, John.'' Sebastian tutted. ''You know what happens when you're bold. Would you like to go through that again?''

Sherlock saw the little colour in John's face drain away. He clamped his lips together and didn't answer Sebastian.

Next, Sebastian turned to Sherlock, his smile growing. ''And, would you look at this! You're alive! You're bloody alive! How did you do that? And, how did I not know about it until a year ago?''

Sherlock glowered at Sebastian. ''I made sure my return wasn't publicised. I had had enough time in the lime light, don't you think?''

Sebastian frowned and leaned back in his chair. ''There's something about you, Sherlock. Something different.'' He sighed irritably and turned to John. ''I mean, I know I'm not as smart as him! Who is?'' He gestured towards Sherlock. ''But, something is different about him. I can tell. Can't you, John?''

John remained silent, his eyes cold. Sebastian rolled his eyes. ''You know, don't you? You know something's changed, but you wont talk about it. You big chicken!''

John raised an eyebrow at the childish taunt being thrown his yeah, but still stayed quiet. Sebastian clapped his hands together. ''Alright! Awkward silence! Don't worry. My man servant will be here in a second with a bucket full of hot coal so I can burn yous too.''

John's eyes widened a considerable amount and he looked at Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head slightly, not seeing a way out of any of this. He couldn't undo the ropes binding him to the chair, and he knew so little about Sebastian. He had nothing to tease him with...apart from...

''So, how is this man servant? I bet he's a different man to work with, compared to Jim.''

Sebastian's eyes turned to slits and leaned forward in his chair, looking into Sherlock's eyes. ''You dare speak of him?''

Sherlock shrugged like he couldn't have cared less. ''Yeah, I dare. Isn't that why we're here, anyway? For you to get your revenge on his death which wasn't actually my fault, but you're still going to blame me. I get why you're doing it. Killing me will make you feel you have avenged-''

''Kill you?'' Sebastian asked, obviously thrown.

Sherlock nodded slowly. ''Obviously.''

Sebastian rolled his eyes and shook his head at Sherlock. He looked disappointed. ''I thought you were supposed to be clever. By God, something has changed with you! What's clouding your judgment, Sherlock?''

Sherlock  replied with a glare. ''What are you talking about?''

''I'm not going to kill you. Why would I kill you?'' Sebastian asked, chewing on his bottom lip. ''No, I want you to suffer. I want to kill  _John_.''

Sherlock felt his insides go cold. ''No.'' He uttered, barely audible. 

Sebastian smirked and cocked his head to the side. ''Didn't hear that, Sherlock. Do speak up, would you?''

Sherlock glanced at John, who was staring at him with wide eyes. He looked truly terrified...but, there was something else. What was that? Sherlock turned back to Sebastian. 

''I wont let you kill an innocent man.''

''Yeah, cause that's how you see him, Sherlock.  _That's_  why you don't want him killed. Do I look like I'm stupid?''

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ''What are you going on about?''

Sebastian opened his mouth to answer, when the door opened up behind him. A young man, no older twenty, walked into the room, struggling with a bucket. Steam rose and went about the room, the heat adding to the uncomfortable tension.

Sebastian clapped his hands in delight. ''Oooh, this will make the interrogation so much sweeter!''

''Sherlock!'' John squeaked, not even trying to hide his fright. Sherlock looked at John wide eyes. 

''I don't know what to do!'' He answered helplessly.

''Just tell him how you feel about me, Goddammit!''

Sherlock stared at John. He was truly speechless. John...knew. John knew? HE KNEW?

''What...?'' Sherlock choked. 

John rolled his eyes. ''He wants me dead! He wants us to end on bad terms so you'll grieve even more! You have to open up, Sherlock. If you're angry...get angry!''

Sebastian was over with his intern, but he still called over. ''Now, you're getting it, Johnny boy!''

Sherlock only stared wide-eyed at John. '' I can't...do that, John.''

John rolled his eyes again, sweat rolling down his forehead from the heat. ''You have to. I'm going to die, this might save us some time, Sherlock!''

Sherlock bit his lip and looked over at Sebastian, then he looked back to John. ''I have a feeling you already know what I have to say.''

John looked at Sherlock sadly. ''I have an idea...but, I could be wrong. So...you're going to have to just talk!''

''He's smarter than you, Sherlock.'' Sebastian said as he stood himself by John. He picked up the poker he had been playing with earlier on and plunged it into the bucket. There was hissing noise, then he withdrew it, the tip alight.

''Now, Sherlock, I've been watching you for an entire year. I know  _everything._  But, I get the feeling your old friend John does not. Doesn't he deserve answers, Sherlock?

''You can't be serious? This is how you're going to get me back for ''killing your boyfriend''? Petty, little questions? Now, I have to say  _I'm_  disappointed.''

Sebastian sighed and held the hot poker to John's neck. ''Whatever you say, Sherlock, now...tell us how you feel about John.''

Sherlock looked at John's face, John looked back at him and mouthed ' _please_ '.  The detective looked back up at Sebastian. ''I'm not going to speak.''

Sebastian sigh and pressed the poker against John's throat for half a second, making John jump in his chair and shout ''Sherlock, for God's sake, tell the man!''

''You ready to spill, Sherlock?''

Sherlock felt so completely torn. He saw the poker edging towards John's skin again, he saw John's pulse in the veins standing out on his neck, he saw Sebastian's cruel glare. Just as the poker touched John's skin again, Sherlock gave in.

'' _I'M IN LOVE WITH HIM_!'' He shouted, causing John to drop his jaw and making Sebastian pull the poker away, a look of smug pride on his face.

''Now, we're getting somewhere.'' Sebastian murmured, taking a step back. ''Anything to say, John? Is unrequited love, or do you oh-so-love Sherlock too? C'mon and tell! I've been dying to know for years!''

John shook his head at Sherlock. He had had his suspicions...but now that he had said it, and the look on Sherlock's face,and the tears John saw in his eyes...it was truly mind blowing. ''No...you don't.''

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, then look at his shoes. ''I'm sorry. It's true. I do.''

John shook his head again. ''No...you don't, Sherlock. You're just confused. You don't...feel like that. I know. I lived with you.''

Sherlock looked back up at John, now looking sort of angry. ''Don't say that to me.''

Sebastian let out a laugh. ''Oh, this is delicious. It's like a bloody TV show, please continue.''

Sherlock glared at Sebastian, but turned back to John. ''I'm not lying, John. I'm telling the truth, no matter how much you don't want to hear it.''

John remained stubborn. ''No, Sherlock. You don't feel like that! You're a machine half the time!''

Sherlock gasped at John. That hurt. How could he say something like that? 

''No, John...''

''Yes, Sherlock!''

''NO!'' Sherlock shouted. John's eyes widened and he looked at Sherlock expectantly. 

''What do you mean, then?''

''You all always called me such horrible things! You, Lestrade, Mycroft...all the boys at school, even my own parents. I'm a machine, you say. I don't feel things like other humans do. I'm insensitive. I'm a sociopath, I'm psychopath, I'm a freak.'' Sherlock gulped, tears streaming down his face as all the thoughts he had kept bottled up in him for so many years came spilling out. Sebastian just watched his a smile on his face. ''And, yous all made me believe those horrible things for so many years. And, once you came, I thought I could redeem myself. I thought I could have a friend who understood...And, I'm sorry I happened to fall in love with you in the act, but I couldn't help it, John! But, even you said all those words to me. And, even though I leaped off a building to save your life...I'm a machine.''

John looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. ''Sherlock...'' He said softly, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock shook his head, more tears pooling up in his eyes. ''No, John. You don't understand. I know you were upset when I left, and I know that for a while, you had faith in me...but, your thoughts turned bitter...so, by the time I came back....You really hated me...and I still loved you. But, you and everyone still label me. You haven't grasped it yet. You haven't realised it. You all wanted me to become a better man. You wanted me to develop...but, you all left. You all left me before I began to grow.JOHN, YOU LEFT BEFORE I BEGAN TO GROW!'' Sherlock finished with a shout, his chest heaving. 

John had tears in his own eyes and he just stared at Sherlock with his mouth hanging open a small bit. There was a moment of heavy silence, but Sebastian broke it. He laughed and brought his hands together in clap.

''Oh, that was beautiful, Sherlock! How touching! You've made John's death so much more exciting!''

John broke his eye contact with Sherlock to look up at Sebastian. ''I think you need to shut up now.'' John said. Sebastian raised an eyebrow and John surprised him by bringing both his hands up,and letting the rope fall to the floor. ''Surprise!'' He shouted before launching himself at Sebastian. Sebastian tried to get a lock on his neck, but couldn't find the right hold. John punched Sebastian in the stomach, and he went stumbling back. John went for a punch, but Sebastian got there before John. The doctor crumpled to the ground. Sebastian put a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a knife. He staggered over to Sherlock. 

''I guess you'll have to do for now.''

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction. ''You're going to kill me?''

Sebastian nodded. He was out of breath. ''Yes, I am.'' He held the knife to Sherlock's throat, drawing a small trickle of blood.

''Anything you want to say, you clever detective?''

Sherlock smiled. ''Well...since I'm about to die, I'd love to thank you for giving me the opportunity to tell John how I feel.''

Sebastian snarled at Sherlock and struck him across his face with the handle of the knife. ''Shut up.''

Sherlock winced a small bit at the pain, but managed another smile. ''You going to kill me yet?''

Sebastian smiled cruelly and raised the knife in hands, aiming for Sherlock's heart. ''Goodbye, detect-''

John came up behind Sebastian and swung the poker into his head. Sebastian fell to the ground and John stared down at him for a few seconds before looking back at Sherlock. He smiled.

''How long have you  _not_  been tied to that chair?''

John smiled awkwardly and shrugged. He knelt down behind Sherlock and started to undo the knot holding him to the chair. ''Like...since he walked in.''

Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked at John with the look of a mad man as the doctor walked back around to him. Sherlock stood up. ''You mean we could've skipped that  _entire episode_?''

John hung his head shamefully. ''I'm sorry.''

Sherlock only shook his head at John. 

John looked back up at Sherlock. '' I just....I needed to hear those things, Sherlock.''

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ''Why?''

John smiled slightly, looked down at his shoes, back up to Sherlock and then around the room. ''I just did.'' John took a step closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock felt his heart start to beat a small bit faster. ''I meant every word of it.''

John nodded. ''I know you did. I believe you...and I am sorry.''

''For what?''

''Everything'' John sighed. ''For calling you all those names, for making you believe that you were a bad person, for leaving you, abandoning you....and, for not being true to myself.''

''What do you mean?'' Sherlock breathed.

John stared right into Sherlock's eyes. He leaned forward so their lips were nearly touching. ''I love you too.'' John whispered softly, before placing his lips on Sherlock's.


	10. Chapter Ten

Sherlock felt himself melt into the kiss for a couple of seconds, before he realised what was actually happening. He tore his lips from John's and stumbled away, his lips buzzing. 

''What-What was  _that_?'' Sherlock gasped, completely out of breath.

John frowned at Sherlock, obviously hurt. ''I thought...I thought that's what you wanted!'' 

Sherlock just gaped at John, his fast breaths slowing down. ''Well...of course I do...but, John...I just...I can't...I don't...''

John felt a lump jump into his throat. This was not how he had pictured Sherlock once he kissed him. There were no sparks, there was no feeling of passion between them. Only Sherlock fretting and confused and John left feeling like crap.

''You don't, what?'' John asked, his voice devoid of any excitement he had felt. 

Sherlock hung his head and shrugged. ''I love you...I love you so much. But, there's so much between us. You're always shouting at me. We're always fighting...I don't want that.'' Sherlock lifted his gaze. ''I just want you. I want you and me and happiness. I just want to be happy after all these years.''

John stepped towards Sherlock again. He tried gulping down the tears, but a few spilled out. He reached forward and took Sherlock's hand. ''If I say sorry...c-could you forgive me for everything? Because...I want to be happy too, Sherlock. I want you. Everything about you.'' John raised his hand to Sherlock's cheek. He wiped away some of the detective's tears. ''You. Your eyes. Your laugh. Your voice. Your personality. Your smart. Your pain. Your heart. I want... _you_ , Sherlock. I love you.''

Sherlock laughed, tears slipping down his face. He raised his own hand to John's face. ''John...'' He uttered softly, almost not believing what was happening.

John moved himself even closer to Sherlock. ''And, I am sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you alone. I'm sorry for calling you those things because...I always knew at the bottom of my heart that I loved you..and I didn't want to get my hopes up, so I called you names that would mean you wouldn't be able to love me. And...I was so wrong to. None of this needed to happen. It's..It's my fault and I am so sorry, Sherlock.'' John sobbed, his hand gripping Sherlock's.

Sherlock smiled sadly at John. ''Then, I'm sorry for leaving you and making you think that I was dead. You deserved answers...and, honestly...I should've given them to you quicker.''

John looked right into Sherlock's eyes. ''You're forgiven.''

Sherlock smiled again. ''So are you.''

John smiled a small bit. ''Can I...kiss you?''

Sherlock drew in a deep breath. ''That sounds...very nice.''

John grinned and reached up on tip-toe to kiss Sherlock. Instantly, Sherlock met John's lips. Their lips moved in perfect sync and the moment was too good. It was so satisfying as Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John, and as John twisted his hands into Sherlock's curly locks.

Once they were done, they pulled apart, gasping for air. They both were grinning like complete idiots, but neither cared. Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's and shut his eyes, sighing deeply. ''I missed you.''

John kissed Sherlock on the cheek. making Sherlock open his eyes again. ''I missed you, too.''

Sherlock pulled John into a hug, burying his face in John's neck. ''Let's keep doing things like that, and stop with the fighting.''

John laughed and hugged Sherlock back. ''Agreed...and in the midst of all this love..'' John pulled away from Sherlock, smirking. ''We forgot that there's a murderer on the floor right beside us.''

Sherlock looked over to Sebastian and stifled a laugh. ''Tie him to a chair. I'll phone Lestrade.''

''You know his 'man servant' probably has our phones.''

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded. ''Okay. You tie him up. I'll find the kid.'' Sherlock said, making way for the door.

John's eyes widened and he hopped in front of Sherlock. ''You're going after him unarmed?''

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ''Says  _you_.'' He gestured towards the still unconscious Sebastian. _  
_

John rolled his eyes. ''I had a poker...take the poker.'' John walked over to Sebastian and picked the poker up off the ground. He brought it back to Sherlock.

''I'm not taking the poker, John.''

John reached up and kissed Sherlock, sliding the poker into the taller man's hand.

''For me? Please?''

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ''Oh, we're not going to be this lovey-dovey all the time, are we?'' Sherlock teased.

John grinned up at Sherlock. ''Wouldn't dare to dream of it. Now, take the poker.''

Sherlock sighed, but nodded, taking a step away from John. ''I'll be back in a minute. You keep him unconscious.''

John nodded and watched Sherlock walk out of the the room. Only now he let the pain show on his face. He was so unbelievably happy about himself and Sherlock...but Sebastian had hurt him bad. He dragged Sebastian over to the chair he had been tied to, and hauled him up. Sebastian was coming to and John didn't want to get into another brawl, so he quickly tied him to the chair and made sure there was nothing sharp for Sebastian to use to cut himself free. 

Just as John stepped away from Sebastian, Sherlock walked back in. He now had a huge gash across his left cheek and he held his side awkwardly,the poker was gone, but there was a smile plastered to his face. ''John, got our phones. He wont be bothering us any-''Sherlock's smile dropped. ''You're hurt. Why didn't you tell me?''

John bit his lip and shrugged. ''Didn't want to ruin the moment.''

Sherlock frowned and started towards John. ''Alright. I'll call Lestrade now, here's your phone.'' He tossed John his phone. John caught it and walked over to the chair Sherlock had been tied to. 

''And you, Sherlock. You got hurt.''

Sherlock nodded and stopped tapping in Lestrade's number for just a second. ''Yes, he was quite resilient.''

John nodded and watched as Sherlock raised the phone to his ear. 

''Lestrade, I've got John and we're both in need of medical attention.''

John heard Lestrade say something quietly, raise his voice on the word 'John' and then fall silent again. Sherlock rolled his eyes. ''That's none of your business.''

Sherlock paused and pursed his lips. ''I actually  _do_  have someone to open up to, as a matter of fact.'' Sherlock mouthed 'sorry' to John and rolled his eyes again. John smiled and felt himself melt at Sherlock's words. 

''Oh, put two and two together, Lestrade.''

A pause.

''Together? Yes.''

Another pause.

'' _John_.'' Sherlock sighed, clearly aggravated. He hung up the phone and pushed it into his jacket pocket. ''He's not the brightest, is he, John?''

''Apparently not.'' John replied, grinning up at Sherlock.

Sherlock brought a napkin out of his shirt pocket and held it up to his face to stop the blood flow. He then noticed John still smiling up at him. He raised an eyebrow.

''What?''

John shook his head. ''Nothing, nothing.''

''Very believable...what is it?''

John shook his head again and lowered his gaze. ''Just thinking.''

Sherlock smiled and walked over to John. He hunkered down so they were at the same level. ''What about?''

John smiled. ''You...and us...and...''

Sherlock frowned. ''What is it that's bothering you?''

John sighed and took Sherlock's hand. ''You're too good at all that deduction lark.''

Sherlock smiled, but waited for John to continue.

''I'm just worried that we mightn't be able to stop.''

''Stop what?''

''The fighting.''

Sherlock let himself absorb the words and tried not to feel sad about them. ''Well...we still have a lot to talk about, John...that much is true, and it may lead it arguments...but, I know in my case that I don't want...''

Sherlock trailed off, looking down at the ground. He had felt happy about him and John kissing, but now that John mentioned it. He was scared. He was terrified of John becoming bored of him again.

''You don't want what, Sherlock?''

''I don't want to be away from you again..I can't  _do_  that again...I'm sorry.''

John smiled slightly. ''Sorry?''

Sherlock looked back up at John. ''Yeah...sorry...?'''

John smiled at Sherlock and placed a small kiss on his detective's lips. ''I'm willing to fight for you, if you're willing to fight for me.''

Sherlock felt grin spread across his face and he lightly kissed John, before they both turned around as Sebastian opened his mouth.

''Yous are sickeningly good for each other.''

''Shut up.'' Sherlock and John called over their shoulders to him in sync.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Twenty minutes later, Lestrade stormed into the Gallery with his young, willing police men and women. In no time, Sebastian was in handcuffs and stuck in the back of a police car.

Sherlock stood outside in the freezing snow, his arms around the injured John. John rested his head against Sherlock's chest as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

Lestrade ran about the crime scene, ordering officers about and trying not to feel the cold.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

''Sir? I've found an unconscious man on the first floor.''

Lestrade turned around, rolling his eyes.

''Get him out. I'll have a word with Sherlock, the bloody fool.''

The young man nodded and started towards the gallery door again.

Lestrade's eyes raked over all the faces, looking for Sherlock. Once he found him, he was surprised to see the two in each other's arms. John spoke quiet words and Sherlock smiled softly in response.

Lestrade smiled to himself and decided to confront him tomorrow. He deserved to have these moments with John. It had been too long.

''J-Jesus, it's freezing.'' John muttered, his voice muffled from Sherlock's jacket.

''Want my coat?'' Sherlock asked, his teeth chattering.

John rolled his eyes. ''I thought you were smart.''

Sherlock let out a deep, short laugh. ''What happened to the days of shock blankets?''

John smiled at the memory. ''Who knows? Where's the bloody ambulance? I'm bleeding, here.''

Sherlock's expression changed to a worried one. ''You okay? Want to sit?''

John nodded and pulled away from Sherlock, but grabbed the detectives hand.

''Yeah, let's sit.'' 

Sherlock nodded and walked them over to the curb. He helped John sit down, and then sat himself beside John on the cold, hard ground. John leaned into Sherlock again.

''So...about this talking we have to do?''

Sherlock sighed and looked down at John, who was peeping up at him. ''We don't have to do this now, John. We can wait until you're better, if you want.''

John bit his lip. ''We can  _start_  now, though.''

Sherlock looked deep into John's eyes and nodded a moment later. ''Where do we start?''

John breathed in deeply and looked out around all the people fretting about the crime scene. ''I want you tell me truthfully...what happened to you after I left. After I moved to the country.''

Sherlock frowned. Even though he had been through much pain, even though it was John's fault...Sherlock didn't want to tell him. He didn't want John to feel guilty about anything. ''Oh, John...it was...different.''

John looked back up at Sherlock. ''Sherlock, come on. You're the one who said we needed to talk. Tell me what happened.''

Sherlock nodded and looked down at his shoes. ''Well...for a while I just wallowed in self pity. I wouldn't take cases. I wouldn't leave the flat...I just sort of...sat there. It was stupid of me, I know. I drank, I did some drugs.'' 

John winced and Sherlock gave him a sad smile. '' I know, it was a reckless thing to do. But...after about six months I decided I had had enough.''

John's eyes widened. ''What do you mean, Sherlock?''

Sherlock swallowed hard, a ghost of the pain in his chest coming to him. ''It means what you think it means, John.''

John held in his tears. He nodded to himself, trying to absorb this information. ''...H-how?''

Sherlock just shook his head and gripped John's hand. John raised his other hand to Sherlock's cheek, gently turning Sherlock's face so he could look at him. He gave him a gentle smile. ''What did you, Sherlock?''

''I...took a dangerous overdose...but, before anything could happen to me, Lestrade found me. He took me to the emergency room. I barely remember any of it...but, he really helped me get back on my feet. So...after that I threw myself into my work and decided to  _forget_ you, rather than only think about you.''

John couldn't reply. Sherlock looked down at him and smiled sadly. ''John?''

John nodded, his face struggling on an expression to settle on. Guilt? Regret? Sadness? He hung his head. '''I...I can't believe I did that to you.''

Sherlock felt sorry to see John so upset, but he couldn't deny that it was nice to hear that John was sorry. ''John...''

''Yes, Sherlock?'' John responded, his voice watery.

''I totally forgive you. And...it wasn't just you, okay? You can't pin everything on you. A lot of the time, I was sad...just because I had gotten used to being sad. It was like... I had forgotten how to see things positively. That wasn't you, John. That was me, and it was painful...but, not you.''

''But, I bloody well triggered it, didn't I?'' John sobbed, no longer holding in tears. 

Sherlock pulled John into a gentle hug. ''Oh, John. Everything that happened doesn't matter, not now that I have you. I finally feel happy again...and you triggered that, didn't you?''

John let out a small laugh. ''I did, I guess.'' He answered in a small voice.

Sherlock pulled back and looked into John's eyes. ''You okay?''

John nodded, biting his lip. Sherlock smiled and leaned into John's face. 

''Good.'' He whispered, before kissing John lightly on the lips.

John grinned up at Sherlock as his detective pulled away, his face an adorable shade of pink. ''Continue this later?''

Sherlock nodded as he heard the ambulance's sirens come nearer. He stood up and held out a hand for John to take. John got up and looked up at Sherlock, a little smile on his face. 

''You are more considerate...and, you're more open than before,'' John said, fidgeting with Sherlock's collar. ''But, you're still my Sherlock.''

Sherlock smiled widely and kept John's hand in his own as the ambulance pulled up.


	12. Chapter Twelve

After both John and Sherlock got stitched up, stayed in hospital for one night, and was given medication, they left for the warmth of a fire at Baker Street. The snow was still thick and sticky on the ground, like it had been for the past few weeks. It was still cold. The wind was always biting...but, it had changed. And, for the better. 

They were together. Can you believe it? After all those years! They had known each other for a whole nine years, nearly ten years, and they were only getting together now. But, it was better that it was happening now, as opposed to never happening at all.

Sherlock was happy. He was at complete peace with himself and he felt better than he had felt in years. One, he actually had John. John really, really liked him. Two, John  had owned up to what he had done. It was so relieving to hear him say sorry. But, now that they had said their apologies, Sherlock wanted to make sure John didn't feel haunted by the guilt. He knew how terrible it must feel to know you're the reason of someone's downfall...but, since Sherlock knew that  _John_  knew this...he just wanted it to be happy now.

John was...Well, actually. He felt a little stupid. He was older now. Much older...and he felt like he barely knew himself.  People usually figure out their sexuality in their teens or early twenties...but, obviously not for John. Apparently he likes guys too...or maybe it's just that he likes  _Sherlock_. Maybe Sherlock is John's exception. John felt he could live with that comfortably.

So, now it was Christmas morning and Sherlock woke up to find John snuggled up to him. He had never done that before, but Sherlock liked it. He smiled to himself and looked as his digital clock. It was eight in the morning. Usually, he would let John sleep...but, this was Christmas. And, when it came to Christmas, Sherlock found he could be very childish indeed. He nudged John lightly and called his name in a whisper. John stirred in his sleep and cracked his eyes open. He instantly grinned at Sherlock, remembering what the day was.

''You want your presents, love?''

Sherlock gave a small smile. ''Only if you want to get up.'' Sherlock answered, his voice scratchy.

John brought a hand up to Sherlock's cheek. ''You sound sexy when you're tired.''

Sherlock let out a small laugh, his face burning up. ''I think you're slightly delirious, John.''

John pulled himself up. '' I am not! You're just...surprisingly modest.''

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed his covers off himself. He walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out his dressing gown and some slipper socks. ''I'm not modest, John, I'm brilliant.''

John snorted and climbed out of bed, grabbing his own dressing gown off the floor. ''I hope you don't mind me coming in here last night.''

Sherlock smiled a little to himself, his back facing John. ''No, no...it was...nice.''

John looked up at Sherlock. Over the past week, he had noticed that Sherlock was actually quite shy when it came to admitting how he felt. John found it adorable. ''Nice, was it?''

Sherlock turned around to John, biting his lip. ''Very much so, yes...I wouldn't mind that at all.''

John stepped towards Sherlock. ''So...I can come back, can I?''

Sherlock smiled sheepishly and kissed John on the cheek. ''Anytime you want.'' He murmured, then pulled away, a childish look of glee on his face.

John took his hand and smiled. ''Presents?''

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. ''Yes.''

John led Sherlock out into the sitting room. He switched on their light and walked over to their ''christmas tree''. It was about two feet off the ground and was made of plastic...but, they weren't going to try and fit an actual tree in here. Around it, there were about eight presents scattered about. Sherlock shivered, wrapping his dressing gown around him tighter. ''I'll get a fire going.''

''Yeah, good idea. I'll make us some...hot chocolate? Seeing as it's Christmas?''

Sherlock nodded, liking the sound of that. He dropped to his knees by the fireplace and started at lighting the fire.

John walked back in, just as Sherlock stepped back from their fireplace, the flames making shapes dance across his features. John thought he looked beautiful.

''H-here's your coco, Sherlock.'' John said, holding out the hot mug for Sherlock to take. Sherlock did so and took a sip, before placing it on the table in between their two armchairs.

''You okay, John?''

John nodded, smiling a little. He too put down his drink. ''You just look really amazing.''

Sherlock just looked at John for a few seconds, looking confused. ''What? Me with my bed head?''

John giggled and stepped towards Sherlock. He ran a hand through Sherlock's 'bed head' and kissed him on the cheek. ''Yes, you with your bed head.''

Sherlock smiled a little, eyes cast downwards out of embarrassment. ''Do you want your presents, John?''

John nodded and sat himself in his chair after reaching over to get Sherlock's presents.Snuggling into his dressing gown, he watched Sherlock seat himself. John grinned. ''Who goes first?''

Sherlock pursed his lips. ''At the same time? On the count of three?''

John nodded and tossed one of Sherlock's gifts over to him. Sherlock mimicked John's actions. 

''Alright, Sherlock, one-''

''Two-''

''Three!'' They shouted together, ripping open the gift wrapping. Sherlock gasped as a gorgeous, soft, navy scarf fell out from the paper. He smiled and looked up at John, who was staring wide-eyed at a very fancy watch.

'' _Sherlock_!'' John sighed, slipping it onto his wrist. ''This must've been so expensive! You didn't have to.''

Sherlock shrugged. ''You needed a new watch...and, oh my God, John! I love it!'' Sherlock said, returning his gaze to his new scarf.

John smiled joyfully. ''Well, your old one was looking a bit tattered, so...''

Sherlock looked up at John, smiling. ''Thank you very much.''

John only grinned in return. ''Okay. I want to see you opening your presents first. Then, you can give me mine.''

Sherlock nodded. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, then placed John's presents of the floor. John threw over two more presents over to Sherlock. They landed on his lap.

''Which one should I open first?''

''That one'' John said, pointing to the one on the top. He was biting his lip, as if trying to stop himself from laughing. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

John shook his head. ''Never mind, just open it!''

Sherlock looked down at his parcel with a quizzical gaze. He slowly unwrapped it. Wondering what on earth it could be to make John laugh that much. He slipped his hand inside the packaging. ''What could be so-'' Sherlock gasped a little and looked at John, the tiniest of smiles on his lips. ''You didn't, did you?''

John nodded, his cheeks red from trying not to laugh. Sherlock sighed and pulled out the deerstalker John had bought him. John burst out laughing, wiping tears away from the corners of his eyes. Sherlock smiled down at the hat, a little laugh escaping his lips. He looked up at John, shaking his head.

''I hate you.''

John only continued to laugh. ''No, you don't. You love me.''

Sherlock smiled and pulled on the hat. ''Yeah, I do.''

John took a few deep breaths to calm himself. ''Okay, open the next one.'' John took up his mug, taking as sip as he waited for Sherlock to open the important present.

Sherlock picked it up, turning it over in his hands. It was a book. Not tiny,but not the biggest book either. An easy read, Sherlock would say. Sherlock tore away the wrappings to reveal a wine coloured hard back. In gold writing it read; 

_'Sherlock Holmes'_

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked up at John. John smiled at him. ''There's only one in the world. It's our adventure. Our story. Pretty much my blog in a book...and then, a few chapters about more recent events.''

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at John, then back down to the book. ''How?''

''Harry works in publishing now. I was able to make a small deal.''

Sherlock leaped up from his chair and threw his arms around John's neck. ''Thank you very much.''

John laughed and hugged Sherlock back for a moment. ''I'm glad you like it.''

Sherlock pulled away and went over to John's presents. He picked them up and handed them to John, before taking his seat.

John smiled down at his presents. ''What first?''

Sherlock shrugged, pulling off his hat. ''Whatever one you want.''

John bit his lip and looked between the two gifts on his lap. He picked the biggest one. It was soft and obviously clothing. John ripped open the packaging to find a lovely, soft beige jumper. John smiled and stood up, whipping off his dressing gown. He pulled the new and soft jumper over his head and smiled at how perfectly it fit him.

''I take it you like it.'' Sherlock said, sipping on his drink.

John nodded and beamed at Sherlock. ''I love it.''

Sherlock smiled and motioned to the other present. John nodded and walked back over to his chair. This present was smaller, but judging by the look on Sherlock's face, maybe a bit more meaningful.

Once the wrappings were gone, John found a small box, about the same size of his hand. Inside John found two train tickets to....

''Baskerville!''

Sherlock smiled sheepishly. ''Maybe this time we could go as tourists.''

John felt his smile grow. ''Oh my God, this is perfect! This is amazing! When are we going?''

Sherlock was happy with John's response. ''Three days. And we stay for four.''

John got up and walked over to Sherlock, planting a kiss on his cheek. ''Thank you.''

Sherlock looked up at John. ''No problem.Shall we visit Mrs. Hudson?''

John nodded and pulled Sherlock up from his seat.

                                                                                             *

The cemetery was close by, but because of the snow, John and Sherlock decided to get a taxi. It was snowing heavily today and you could barely see a metre beyond yourself. Sherlock paid the cabbie and stepped out into the strong wind and snow. John linked his arm and they set off towards Mrs. Hudson's grave. 

They just stood staring at it for a while. So many years had past, but it seemed surreal. They could still hear her voice. Still smell her perfume. Still feel the warmth of her hugs.

John cleared his throat, his arm still linked with Sherlock's. ''Hello, Mrs.Hudson. It's been long, hasn't it?'' John shifted on his feet to try keep his circulation going. ''I'm sorry I haven't been to visit you...but, I'm here now...so...hi.''

Sherlock glanced at John's face and gave his arm a squeeze. ''Are you alright, John?''

John nodded, still looking at Mrs.Hudson's grave. ''Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson.''

John turned to leave. but Sherlock stopped him. ''Do you mind if I have a minute alone with her?''

John raised an eyebrow, but nodded once he saw the emotion in Sherlock's eyes. He backed away and respectively gave Sherlock some time alone.

Sherlock walked right over to her headstone and hunkered down. His hot tears soon turned icy once they landed on his cheeks. 

''Mrs. Hudson, '' He murmured. ''I have much to thank you for...but, today of all days...and things being as they are...I need to thank you for making me stay alive. Even when I didn't want to. Even when I felt so low...'' Sherlock voice broke and wiped the tears from his eyes. ''But, if you hadn't... I wouldn't have today. I wouldn't have John....so, thank you.''

Sherlock felt a tap on his shoulder and he looked up to see John staring down at him, a sad look on his face. ''Come on, Sherlock. Let's go home.''

Sherlock nodded and took John's hand as they walked out of the cemetery.

                                                                                         *

After a truly scrumptious dinner, a visit from Lestrade and an awkward phone call with Mycroft, Sherlock was helping John clean the dishes. They had a radio playing Christmas songs from recent years and not so recent times. Sherlock was putting their plates up on the racks, while John put their ketchup, milk etc into the fridge. 

Sherlock hummed to himself lightly and John smiled at the sound. ''Hey, Sherlock?''

''Mhm?''

John drew in a deep breath and continued on in a casual way. ''I was thinking...you know...'' John stopped what he was doing and leaned against the counter. ''We should get married sometime.''

Sherlock froze just as he slotted another plate into it's place. 

John wondered if he had crossed a line. ''...Sherlock?''

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned around to John, his eyes wide. ''Yes, John?''

John was started to feel a horrible dread seep through his body. ''Oh...Just...I guess...nothing. No...Nothing.''

Sherlock frowned at John. ''No...I mean...did I hear you right?''

John nodded slowly, looking timidly at Sherlock. ''I said we should get married.''

Sherlock took a huge, deep breath and stepped towards John. ''Not a half bad idea, if I say so myself.''

John's face lit up. ''Seriously?''

Sherlock smiled at him. ''Obviously not straight away...but, I'm pretty sure I want to be with you.Always.''

John reached up and pulled Sherlock into a short kiss. ''I love you.''

Sherlock looked into John's eyes. ''And I, you. Merry Christmas, love.''

John pulled Sherlock into a hug. ''Merry Christmas''

 

**THE END**


End file.
